


Ha Ha, Cowboy Joke

by MajorIndecision



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:12:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorIndecision/pseuds/MajorIndecision
Summary: The time came to [wake Erron to give him his tea]. Ermac floated over with the piping mug and set it delicately on the coffee table—tea on the coffee table? Mortals are funny—before turning back to Erron. He still looked a little tense, so Ermac placed their hand on his shoulder.Before they could register the movement, they were staring down a gun barrel. Steadily, they met Erron’s troubled gaze. “Our friend,” they started smoothly, “please put that away. Your tea is ready.”--or--Ermac likes to mess around and visit Erron late at night; tonight, Erron hasn't had a peaceful sleep.
Relationships: Erron Black/Ermac
Kudos: 11





	Ha Ha, Cowboy Joke

Outside, the shroud of darkness lingered like a thick miasma occasionally punctured by persistent orbs of light. Ermac was one of these sources, creeping into a dim home in the hour of twilight with the ghost of a smile gracing their lips. Their feet scarcely graced the wooden floors as they trailed into the familiar building, carefully silent.

They came across a bedroom and slowly pressed the door inwards, bracing its hinges with a bit of magic to keep it from creaking; in the dim green glow of their souls, they could see no figure inside. A tinge of worry beat in their undead heart, but many of them willed it away for favor of their original mission. They slowly glided in.

On the nightstand, they found their prize. With an unfaltering grin, they procured the hat and smoothed over its leather with their hands; now, the only thing left was to boast their victory. Again came the issue of the untouched bed. They turned their head to gaze at the mattress.

It looked like it hadn’t been used since an incident recently. No dust graced its unmade sheets. Ermac ran their fingers along it and found that some of its fibers still contained a dying warmth. The tousled comforter wasn’t torn enough to indicate a struggle; many of them were more willing to bet a nightmare of some sort, or some other reason to suddenly rise from slumber. Ermac turned away from the drying moisture of sweat long since soaked into the mattress to find their friend.

Silently, they hovered down the hall, opening each door they came across thoroughly and silently with their telekinesis. A bead of concern grew more and more in the pit of their stomach the longer it took them to find him, until finally they became aware of a figure in the living room, draped across the couch.

Ermac approached with an equal measure of anticipation and caution. Erron was lying on his back with his arm draped across his eyes and his pistol holstered at his hip. Ermac swallowed, unsure of how to wake him without startling him.

He was already awake, they realized suddenly. His muscles were too tense, his breathing too quick. His other hand, although the first looked relaxed, was gripping his pistol. He was aware of Ermac’s presence, but must not have realized it was them; he thought it was an intruder, and was waiting for them to make the first move.

So Ermac made one that would surely tell Erron it was them. With the shuffle of clothing, they’d put on his hat. “You don’t make it very difficult to steal this thing.”

Erron pulled his arm away from his eyes and met Ermac’s mischievous smile. With a sigh, he pulled his grip away from his pistol and sat up on the couch, popping a few sore bones with a groan. Ermac placed his hat on the back of the couch and floated around to sit next to him, planting themselves Indian-style onto the furniture.

“Would you like to tell us what happened?” they asked gently. Erron very seldom had nightmares—at least that Ermac knew of—so he was usually rather rattled upon waking. The bags beneath his eyes were ever darker.

“Nightmare,” mumbled Erron, confirming Ermac’s worries, “bout some of the people I’ve killed.” He reached up and rubbed at his eyes, and Ermac was touched; Erron, and some other paranoid humans of his kind, would only willingly obscure his vision in a presence he trusted.

Ermac glanced over to the kitchen, thinking of some way they could help. They spotted a box of herbal tea on the counter, and their eyes lit up. “Would you like us to brew you some tea?”

Erron peered at them from between his fingers. “You know how?”

“Enough of us do,” Ermac assures. They rise from the couch and float over to the small, almost primitive kitchen; Erron had adorned it with appliances from Earthrealm the last time he’d gone, which, judging from the mercenary’s attitude, would likely be his last trip for a while.

Ermac contemplated it as they put on the tea, making sure to read the directions to keep from ruining their friend’s brew. Many humans Ermac had encountered would have been delighted to return to their home every once in a while, but Erron seemed content to stay in Outworld. Some of them contemplated that he didn’t have a very good life at home. Others contemplated that he just didn’t care.

_ Maybe he would miss us,  _ some of them offered, and it made Ermac grin. They looked over at Erron on the couch; he was gradually slumping over as though falling back asleep. They decided it wasn’t an issue at the moment; they’d wake him up to give him the tea.

The time came to do so. Ermac floated over with the piping mug and set it delicately on the coffee table— _ tea on the coffee table? Mortals are funny _ —before turning back to Erron. He still looked a little tense, so Ermac placed their hand on his shoulder.

Before they could register the movement, they were staring down a gun barrel. Steadily, they met Erron’s troubled gaze. “Our friend,” they started smoothly, “please put that away. Your tea is ready.”

The pistol vanished. Erron breathed a shaky breath as he slapped it back into its holster, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Shit, sorry,” he was mumbling. Ermac reached up and pet his hair—they’d observed that it calmed humans down as much as it did animals—and gently encouraged him to drink his tea.

Erron hadn’t managed to finish the entire cup before succumbing to exhaustion. Ermac had looked up from reading to check on their friend and suddenly realized that he’d spill it on himself if his hands kept coasting downwards like that; so they took the mug and watched him slump fully into the couch. The tea went back on the coffee table, and they stole a blanket from a closet in the hall to drape over their friend.

They were about to leave, but realized something was off about Erron; suddenly, it hit them. With a smile, they drifted back over to him, took his hat off of the back of the couch, and gently placed it onto his head, angling the brim to obscure his eyes so the daylight of morning wouldn’t bother him. Satisfied, they tucked him in and left.


End file.
